


Gratitude

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Found Family, Gen, Movie Nights, weird families bonding weirdly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: “Ooh, that reminds me. Dibs Dad!”“I am a person, Dick,” Bruce says, from behind his boys. Dick jumps but Jason doesn’t, just laughs, while he continues; “You can’t call dibs on people.”A movie night, where Bruce has a rare moment of clarity.





	Gratitude

——

“Alright,” Dick says, rolls his shoulders. Stretches out his arms and gives a full-body shake. “Let’s _do_ this, I’m ready.” 

“It’s a movie, genius,” says Jason, knocking shoulders with his elder brother. “It doesn’t require a warm-up.”

“Well if I don’t stretch now, I’m going to get antsy and stiff. But not necessarily in that order,” Dick says, gives him a… somewhat friendly shove, in return. Says, “ _Ooh_ , that reminds me. Dibs Dad!”

“I am a person, Dick,” Bruce says, from behind his boys. Dick jumps but Jason doesn’t, just laughs, while he continues; “You can’t call dibs on people.”

“Dibs sitting  _next to you_ , obviously,” Dick says, long-sufferingly. Like Bruce is being stupid. “Are the boys on their way down?”

“I gave them the two minute warning,” Bruce confirms, and Damian enters the parlour with stomping feet–

“I’ve called dibs on sitting next to Dad,” Dick tells the boy, grinning widely. He bounds forward to grab Damian’s tiny wrist and drag him, reluctant, into the room. Says, “You’re gonna love Ghostbusters. Probably.”

“Where will  _I_ sit?” Damian says, instead. He eyes Jason with a frown.

“I’ll sit in the middle of the couch,” Bruce offers. “You can sit on my other side.” And then, feeling a flash of familiar guilt, he glances at Jason, slouch-shouldered and raised-eyebrowed in the middle of the room. Says, “That’s okay, right?”

“No worries,” says Jason, and then, under his breath but in a voice clearly intended to carry; “Psychologists  _do_  say that it’s the middle children who are most often ignored or neglected.”

Bruce opens his mouth to… something. Apologise, even though he’s almost sure it was a joke, or possibly just say  _“Jay_ ”, in that tone of all-too-familiar exasperation. Maybe offer to spend much, much more time together, just to give him an opportunity to roll his eyes and pretend to gag, but–

“You hear that, Babybird?” Jason says, loudly, when Tim walks through the doorway. “You and me are relegated to the floor.”

Tim just nods, like he didn’t expect anything else. 

“Come sit,” Dick calls, from the couch. There’s a deliberate space left between him and Damian, a Bruce-sized gap. Dick pats it invitingly and waggles his eyebrows, and Bruce mutters “Well there’s no way this is going to go well,” just loud enough for Jason and Tim to hear.

Tim snorts, and Jason gives a laugh, shoves him forward. Toward the couch.

“It’s a big couch,” Bruce says, when he sits bracketed between his boys. “There’s plenty of room for all of us.”

“And sit next to Dickie or the demon kid?” Jason scoffs. “No thank you.” 

And Bruce didn’t know it was possible to flop pointedly, but Jason has always managed to surprise him. 

“Well,” Damian sneers, “You’re stuck sitting with  _Drake_ , now.”

“Infinitely preferable,” Jason says, without pause. 

And Tim, beside him on the carpet, says, “Hell yeah,” and they high-five, without turning to face one another, Tim huffing his laugh.

“I’m an _exceptional_  seating companion, I'll have you know,” Dick says, tossing down cushions nonetheless. And elbowing into Bruce’s side, but he’s not really sure if that’s deliberate or not. “Come on, let’s roll, guys. Who’s got the remote?”

———

It’s some time later when Bruce starts to stir. Unsure what’s woken him, he opens his eyes slowly, not moving otherwise.

The movie’s still playing, softly, in the background. Almost over. The screen is throwing the dark room into a pale blue glow, a familiar head of hair silhouetted in front of it. 

And Jason says, low, “You’re quite the trend-setter, you know?”

Is he talking to–?

“I mean,” the boy continues, still facing the television, “You fall asleep one time, and suddenly everybody’s doing it.” 

And Bruce lifts his head then, as something violent and non-sensical happens onscreen. Someone had, at one point, tucked a blanket around him. It’s one of the soft fleecy bedroom ones, not the scratchy, fancy throws Alfred keeps in the sitting rooms. Damian is smushed into his side, pressed tight against him. His arm is loosely around the boy, who’s making tiny, soft-snoring sounds. His face is pinched up in its usual scowl, but for Damian, he seems happy enough.

On his other side, Dick’s head is lolled against the back of the couch, Bruce’s hand pressed heavily against his knee. One of Dick’s arms is wrapped around himself, the other hand resting loosely on Bruce’s arm. 

And if he shifts his head just  _slightly_ , careful not to disturb his sleeping kids, he can see Tim curled up on the carpet, wrapped around a single cushion. Someone had tossed a jacket over his scrunched-up form. 

Jason’s still upright, arms wrapped around his shins, chin resting on his knees. Still watching the movie, for all that he isn’t. Sitting peaceably in a room with his sleeping brothers, empty snack containers and dishes sprawled around like collateral damage. A family movie night.

It’s then that Bruce is stuck with one of those rare, blinding moments of clarity. Of  _gratitude_ , and warmth, and a kind of wonderment that _this_ is his family, the snoring, crumb-covered lot of them. All here, with him. He says, voice hoarse and quiet, “ _Thank you_.” 

Jason half-turns, then, question on what little of his face Bruce can make out in the dark. Offers, “It was Tim that got the blanket.” 

“That too,” Bruce murmurs. Because he means it for  _everything_.

And Jason looks as though he’s about to speak, face clouded with… indecision, realisation, when Tim, entirely asleep, mumbles “No don' leave-” and rolls onto his other side, stretching out his legs fully. And incidentally kicking into Jason.

Bruce can see the spot where Tim’s heels must be digging into Jason’s thigh, hears the half-laugh, half-sigh, the murmured, “You little shit,” and, “You’re lucky you’re asleep, kid.”

He sees Jason shift, reach out. Sure he’s about to wake the sleep-deprived Tim. But instead, Jason just. Rests his open palm on Tim’s ankle. Eyes on the TV again.

Bruce feels himself smiling, closes his eyes. Lets his head fall back against the couch. 

And it feels like less than a minute later when he hears the ending credits, Jason saying, “Time to rouse the troops?”

He opens his eyes. “I think,” Bruce says, slow. “We’re all pretty settled, for the moment.” 

Jason eyes him from the floor, something like a smile on his face. Says, “You are getting, just,  _so_ sappy in your old age.” He stretches then, gently shifting Tim’s feet so he can stand, says, “I’ll stick in the sequel.”

“Jay, you don’t–” Bruce starts.

“It’s okay,” he says, changing around the DVD. “Tim’s in and out a bit. I’m sure he’ll wake up in a few and quote along to the damn movie.”

He blinks his eyes open to see that Jason’s looking at him. “Go back to sleep, old man,” he says, fondness heavy in the timbre of his of his voice. 

“I can still kick your butt, kiddo,” Bruce says. Closes his eyes again anyway.

He falls asleep to Jason’s laughter, a quiet "Yeah, you wish, Pops."

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/99081996672/gratitude-drabble)


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